


Something Rotten

by GalahadThePure



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadThePure/pseuds/GalahadThePure
Summary: Curran and Heinwald go to investigate a village that has been cursed by a necromancer. Even after rescuing the villagers and bringing the necromancer to justice, Heinwald feels something is off. Little does he know, he has been cursed as well!





	1. Chapter 1

     It all started with a single girl; heartbroken after the sudden death of her lover who died in combat. Empathetic, mourning victims made easy prey for the occult. Desperation has a way of blinding people, making them block out all logic for even the slightest possibility of regaining what they lost. That was when the fate of her village was sealed; when she signed away the lives of many to save one. A lively town was reduced to a wasteland, and its citizens found themselves turning into withering masses of flesh, suffering in agony until their deaths.

     Doing away with situations like this was commonplace for the Ilian Church, not for the sake of people who were suffering, but to save their own hides and cover up for the darkness of the occult still festering in Grastea. Apprehending criminals behind these incidents fell to a unique task force: the unlikely duo of the Inquisitor Curran and the Dark Magus and detective Heinwald. Even in spite of his history with the dark arts, Heinwald could solve nearly any case put in front of him, and with the sheer strength of his partner Curran, the two were unstoppable.

     “In the village of Marcio,” the head Cardinal of the church informed, “A necromancer has been draining the life force of civilians for unknown reasons. It will be your duty to apprehend this criminal at once and bring her back to the Church, dead or alive.”

     “Damn,” Curran mumbled, “Hein, do you know this lady? I know you used to experiment in reviving people.”

     “I only practiced curing the living,” Heinwald corrected, “Reanimating the dead is a taboo I do not desire to break. While I would normally do anything for reaching the truth, some things are better left unknown. Regardless, I have read plenty of texts on the field of necromancy, but I won’t truly know what curse she has employed until I witness it for myself.”

     “How many deaths counted so far?” Curran asked the Cardinal.

     “I’m afraid that is unknown,” the Cardinal replied dismally, “We sent some clerics to the village a few weeks ago under the impression that it was a plague that could be treated. Unfortunately the only thing that returned from our party was a letter saying that the village was cursed.”

     “What a shame that promising young healers would have to lose their lives,” Heinwald sighed, “Curses can be remedied just as easily as diseases, it just takes research and skill to do so. Why would you, the Church, send inexperienced innocents to face such a threat? Are you truly that incompetent?”

     “Oi, Hein, tone it down a bit,” Curran worried.

     “No he’s right,” the Cardinal confessed, “It was our ignorance that lead to their deaths. That’s why we called you two in; not only to apprehend the heretic, but also to cure the curse upon Marcio. The Ilian Church holds full responsibility for the clerics’ deaths. Please put an end to this so their deaths will not be in vain.”

     “You can leave it to us,” Curran accepted, “We’ll depart first thing tomorrow.”

     The Cardinal nodded his head, “You are dismissed.”

     Heinwald turned on his heel and left the steeple. Curran quickly followed after him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

     “What are you in such a rush for?” Curran asked, “We aren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

     “I’m headed to my manor,” Heinwald responded, “I need to brush up on my knowledge of necromancy and curses. The Cardinal was unfortunately vague with his description of the villagers’ conditions, so I’ll probably be up all night.”

     “Don’t tell me you’re gonna study remedies for all possible necromancy based curses… You’re crazy Hein…”

     “I’m a fast reader. Besides, it’s the only way. Capturing the heretic is only half of our job. I’ll leave the heavy lifting of apprehending her to you and I’ll work on finding a cure for the villagers.”

     “Guess I really can’t convince you once you’ve got your eyes on the fries.”

     Curran shook his head. Even after being partners for several months, Curran still constantly tripped over his words. Perhaps he’d have to school him on idiomatic expressions when they finally got some free time.

     “Anyway, I must be off,” Heinwald brushed Curran off, “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. Make sure you prepare well for our journey too.”

     Before Curran could get a chance to convince him to at least stay in town for dinner with him, Heinwald was already off to return to his manor. Curran rubbed the back of his neck.

     “Man, that guy is such a workaholic,” he sighed.

***

     The following morning, Curran and Heinwald reconvened at the Church. While Curran packed light for their trip, it appeared like Heinwald had packed half of his library to take with him: books, medicinal herbs, flasks, even a cauldron. Curran was unsure if a slender guy like Heinwald would be able to handle carrying it all.

     “Do you really need all of this?” he asked.

     “Of course,” Heinwald responded, “Even with my intellect, some of the antidotes were too difficult to commit to memory. Besides, brewing potions is far more complex than making a stew for dinner. If your measurements are imprecise, you could be putting the lives of your patients at risk.”

     “I thought you were a dark mage, not an apothecary.”

     “Are the two fields mutually exclusive? Healing is my specialty. Of course I’ve dabbled in potion brewing.”

     “Guess I’ll have to trust you on that…”

     Heinwald and Curran loaded their supplies into their horse-bound cart and proceeded forth to Marcio. It was a small village of Sylvans buried deep in the forest. Ironically enough, Marcio was a village renowned for its apothecaries, as medicinal herbs grew by the bushel in the fertile lands. Even if Heinwald didn’t pack the right ingredients for a cure, it would be likely that he could scavenge for them in the wilderness outside of the town. As Curran drove their cart into the thick shade of the forrest, he looked back to check on Heinwald. He was engrossed in one of his tomes, as expected. His bright red eyes seemed transfixed on the texts within, flipping between the pages to absorb as much information as he could. Curran could watch him like this for hours. Heinwald brushed his jet-black hair out of his eyes and looked up to Curran at the helm.

     “What are you doing?” he scolded, “Focus on the road!”

     “Oh right,” Curran apologized, turning around and gripping the horse’s reins, “Sorry about that. We should be arriving shortly. Be prepared for the worst.”

     “I’m ready. It just couldn’t be more ironic that such a mecca for healing arts and pharmacy is being plagued by a curse…”

     “Heretics can appear anywhere, and often times where you least expect them. It’s something I’ve learned from being in this field for so many years.”

     “The thing that doesn’t make sense to me is that a village whose primary trade is pharmaceuticals should have a means to counter any curse or illness… Unless…”

     “Unless what, Hein?”

     “Never mind that… I’ll just have to hope for the best.”


	2. Chapter 2

     The horse pulling Curran and Heinwald’s cart whinnied as it halted in front of the village entrance. The atmosphere sent a chill up Curran’s spine. Weeds and vines had overgrown in the formerly bountiful herb gardens and most of the houses looked abandoned. The sickening smell of rotting flesh permeated through the air and moans of pain could be heard throughout the town. Curran swallowed hard and dismounted the cart.

     “Heinwald,” he said, grabbing his ax from the cart, “Looks like we’re here…”

     Heinwald closed his book and grabbed his staff, “Let’s get to work then.”

     Curran tied the horse to a nearby tree and the two entered the village. Not a soul was in sight, but the cries of pain only grew louder as they came closer to the heart of the village.

     “Certainly looks a bit worse for flair…” Curran stumbled.

     “It’s like a ghost town,” Heinwald added, “I can hear the civilians, but I can’t see any of them around.”

     “What should we do Hein? Search for survivors or track down the necromancer.”

     Suddenly, the two heard a delicate, but pained voice cry out.

     “H-help… me…”

     “That voice,” Heinwald noticed, “It sounded like it came from nearby. We should check it out.”

     Heinwald and Curran followed the cries of pain, trudging through overgrown grass and rotting herbs. They soon arrived at a hut that appeared to be the source of the voice. Above the door was a sign that read “Geoffrey’s Pharmaceuticals.” Based on the state of disrepair of the hut, this couldn’t be good for the villagers. If even the apothecaries fell victim to the curse, he could only imagine how difficult it would be for laymen to receive treatment. Curran nodded at Heinwald before opening the door. The interior caused him to nearly drop his ax in horror. This hut was filled with rotting corpses. Flies and carrions gorged themselves on the grey, decaying flesh of the Sylvans and the room stunk of death. Perhaps the most horrifying part was that some of these presumed “corpses” were still moving. Their flesh was rotting off of their still living bodies.

     “Horrible…” Curran muttered, “What kind of monster would do this?”

     “Who… are you…” a soft voice whimpered.

     Heinwald recognized that voice. It was the one they followed here. He gently stepped over the bodies littering the floor, trying not to step on any as he was still unsure which were alive and which were dead. Sitting in the corner of the room was the owner of the voice. She was a small, Sylvan girl, huddled up by herself and crying. Her short, auburn hair was streaked with silver and patches of skin across her body had turned grey with rot and decay. Her eyes looked pained, completely devoid of hope as tears spilled from them.

     “Relax little one,” Heinwald comforted, extending a hand, “We’re from the Ilian Church. We’re here to help.”

     The girl grimaced as he approached her, curling up and squeezing her eyes shut.

     “No!” she shouted, “Don’t come any closer! You’ll… get cursed too… You’ll die… Just like the others… who came to help…”

   “Don’t be afraid. I won’t die that easily,” Heinwald assured, “My name is Heinwald, and this is my partner Curran. We’re here to apprehend the necromancer who cursed your village and cure all of you. What’s your name, little girl?”

     She turned to Heinwald and rubbed the tears from her face. A small glint of hope appeared in her eyes.

    “My name’s…” she murmured, “Zophi… Papa… was the apothecary… but he…”

     Heinwald looked around the room of cursed Sylvans and shook his head.

     “You don’t need to say anymore, Zophi,” Heinwald assuaged, “I know how much it hurts to lose your father. I’ve experienced it myself. Can you stand?”

     “It… hurts,” she squeaked, rubbing at her legs.

     Heinwald looked down to her feet. Both had turned completely grey and looked as if they could fall off at any second.

     “I see…Curran! Get over her and carry her outside,” Heinwald ordered, “But be gentle! She’s very young and her body is under a lot of stress. I’m going to grab the cauldron from the cart and start brewing. I think I’ve figured out the nature of this curse.”

     “Gotcha,” Curran responded.

     As Curran headed to grab Zophi, Heinwald rushed outside to their cart. He unloaded the cauldron, a thermometer, and a pestle and set it down on the ground before searching for ingredients and firewood. Curran soon met up with him, carrying the terrified Zophi in his arms.

     “So what _is_ this curse, Heinwald?” Curran asked, patting Zophi’s head to comfort her.

     Heinwald continued his work feverishly, but talked as he continued his efforts.

     “It’s a taboo curse,” he explained, “Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘Equivalent Exchange?’”

     “Never heard of it,” Curran responded.

     “It’s an alchemic principle in which if one wishes to gain something, another thing of equal value must be sacrificed. That is the principle behind this curse… A fusion of the arts of Necromancy and Alchemy: the Bodily Reanimation curse.”

     “What’s that?”

     “It’s a curse that sacrifices others to maintain the life of one who is dying or has already passed away. On the outside, this curse appears to be one of the body, causing flesh to gradually rot away while its victim is still alive, but that is only half of it. Reviving the flesh of a body is easy. The soul is the difficult part. That’s why healers cannot revive the dead, the soul has already left its vessel.”

     “I see…”

     Heinwald filled the cauldron with water and lit a flame beneath it. He grabbed a pestle and an herb in his hand and began grinding it into a powder.

     “The rotting of flesh off of the body,” he continued, “Is merely a catalyst for the caster’s true desire; gathering energy that emerges as a byproduct from stress on the soul. This curse was created to be a slow, painful death in order to put the soul under as much duress as it can take. It’s messed up, but the people of this town have become individual factories for soul energy, and their pain is fuel.”

     “So what you’re saying,” Curran said, trying to piece it all together, “Is that all of these people are suffering to death so one person can live? That’s messed up!”

     “Based on the scale of the curse, I’m guessing the recipient of the soul energy was already dead. This is why so many people are afflicted. The soul requires massive amounts of energy to remain in a body that it has already left.”

     “Well is there at least a cure for it?”

     “There is… but it’s very difficult to brew… It seems simple enough since it’s just three ingredients: fresh water, potiongrass… and Bellathorna. Therein lies the tricky part.”

     “Bellathorna? Are you crazy Heinwald? Isn’t that poisonous?”

     “That’s why I said it’s difficult… If you mess up the brewing, you will create a poison instead of a cure. When heating the water, you must add the Bellathorna to the mixture at just the right time. According to my research, Bellathorna has a hidden temperature threshold where if exposed to at exactly 150 **°** Celcius, it will be converted to a curative for curses. The potiongrass acts more as an indicator than a curative element, as when it meets with poison, potiongrass based antidotes will turn violet. If the color remains vibrant green, it is safe.”

     “Well then, what’s so hard about that?”

     Heinwald added the ground potiongrass to the water and placed his thermometer inside the boiling concoction. The liquid went from clear to green. Heinwald wiped the sweat from his brow as he pulled out the Bellathorna and began grinding it as well.

     “The hard part,” he informed, “Is getting the temperature threshold correct. There is quite literally no room for error. If your brew is one degree too hot or one degree too cold, the Bellathorna will maintain its poisonous qualities.”

     “The hell?” Curran worried, “That seems impossible!”

     “I can do it… It will just take a lot of concentration. And the most unfortunate part of this cure is that while it stops the necrosis and reconnects the nerve tissue, the skin discoloration will be permanent…”

     “So the survivors will be cured… But the grey patches of skin will stay?”

     “Unfortunately yes… But it’s better than suffering from the pain of your flesh rotting off until your soul burns out… Now, let me concentrate…”

     Curran and Zophi watched in anticipation as Curran eyed the boiling cauldron. He was like a surgeon at work, ensuring everything was precise. If he wanted to, Heinwald could leave the inquisition and make a pretty penny as an apothecary, but deep down Curran knew he’d never do that. The only thing that satisfied his partner was pursuing the truth and using it to benefit others.

     Heinwald began to sweat as he kept a close eye on the thermometer. The temperature was slowly rising. He readied his dose of Bellathorna, holding it over the water and praying his grip remained steady. The mercury rose, ticking up each notch painstakingly.

     _“147, 148, 149…”_ Heinwald thought to himself.

     150! The second it hit the threshold; Heinwald dumped the Bellathorna in and stirred it rapidly. He swallowed hard in anticipation. If this potion turned violet, it was game over. He removed the incorporated potion from the heat and waited. The minutes that passed for the cooling period felt like an eternity. After steam stopped rising from the cauldron, he stuck a finger in. It was lukewarm in temperature, but its color was still a vibrant green. He did it. He managed to brew the cure! He grabbed a canteen from the cart and filled it with the liquid before handing it to Zophi. Her moans of pain were getting louder as the rot spread further up her legs.

     “Take a drink of this, Zophi,” he ordered, “It will stop the pain.”

     Zophi reached out feebly to the canteen and took a swig of the potion within. Within minutes, her eyes had regained life. While the skin on her legs was still discolored, the stench of rot disappeared from her body and the muscles underneath plumped once more with vitality. Baffled, Zophie examined the dark splotches on her skin, flexing her toes as feeling returned to them. Gathering her strength, she stood up and walked around.

     “It doesn’t hurt,” she said amazedly, “It doesn’t hurt! I can walk again!”

     “You did it Hein!” Curran celebrated, “I knew you could do it.”

     “Thank goodness,” Heinwald sighed, “Hopefully there’s enough for the whole village.”

     Zophi jumped with joy and beamed, running up to Heinwald and hugging him tightly.

     “Thank you,” she smiled, “Thank you Mr. Heinwald. You saved my life.”

     Heinwald smirked with pride and patted her head, “You were very brave Zophi, but can I ask a favor of you?”

     “Sure!” she replied.

     “Take this canteen, find any survivors you can, and have them drink this cure. You can use the entire cauldron if need be. Then once everyone is safe, head to the nearest church and tell them you were sent by the inquisition and request sanctuary until the heretic in Marcio Village has been apprehended. Do you think you can do that, little one?”

     Zophi nodded her head with confidence, “Yes, I can do that.”

     Curran laughed heartily as he ruffled her hair, “Atta girl. Heinwald and I are gonna go punish that mean lady who messed up your village. We’ll leave giving everyone the antidote to you.”

     Zophi grabbed onto the canteen and saluted Heinwald and Curran before running back into the village.

     “Now that the kid’s safe,” Curran said, “Let’s show this necromancer who’s boss.”


	3. Chapter 3

     The necromancer’s house stood ominously near the outskirts of the village. Heinwald was easily able to deduce this was her stronghold, as it was the only one not covered in overgrown vines and moss. The pair of inquisitor and detective nodded to each other before Curran kicked down the door.

     “THIS IS THE ILIAN CHURCH,” Curran shouted, “COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.”

     There was no answer. The foyer of her house seemed completely empty. It looked like they’d have to do some searching if they wanted to find the necromancer behind the curse on Marcio village. The two decided to split up with Heinwald covering the ground floor and Curran covering the upper floor.

     The house was a bit large for a single mage. Based on size alone, Heinwald deduced at least one other person lived here at one point. While Curran investigated the master bedroom, Heinwald went straight to where he felt most comfortable; the study. He opened the door to the room, discovering a large bookcase as well as several desks covered in different papers. On one of the desks was a picture frame of a Sylvan couple. The woman was clad in a white dress and the man wore formal Sylvan attire. He flipped the frame over and saw inscribed on the back.

_Marc and Syana’s wedding night_

     He set the frame back down and moved to the bookcase. Perhaps he could find texts on necromancy or other clues related to the mage who cursed the village. As he searched, he noticed that most of the books were covered in dust save for a single leather bound one. On its spine read _On the Theory of Equivalent Exchange_. This was a practical gold mine of clues. Heinwald reached out to grab the book, pulling it from the bookcase. He leapt back in shock as the ground started to rumble and the bookshelf slid aside, revealing a hidden staircase. Jackpot. Heinwald quickly and quietly ran upstairs to grab Curran, who was rifling through the homeowner’s dresser.

     “You’re not gonna believe what I just found,” he said.

     Curran gripped at his ax, “Show me.”

     They rushed back to the study, hurrying down the secret staircase. As they crept further into the depths of the house, darkness started to envelope the stairway. Heinwald chanted an incantation, causing the tip of his staff to glow just enough to illuminate the path in front of them. Finally, they reached the bottom of the staircase, entering a dank hallway illuminated by sconces. A wooden door, bolted with iron, stood at the end. Curran grabbed a torch from one of the sconces and followed Heinwald to the end of the hall. He handed Heinwald the torch and heaved his ax into the thick wood of the door. Heinwald heard a woman shriek from the inside. It looks like they had found the necromancer. After hacking at the iron lock, Curran finally managed to get the door open. Inside the chamber was the Sylvan woman Heinwald saw in the picture. Her formerly silky blonde hair had turned ratted and greasy in disarray and her sunken, violet eyes teemed with bloodlust. She held her wand out menacingly and stood her guard in front of a glowing magic circle.

     “Who are you?” she threatened, “How did you get down here?”

     “You must be Syana,” Heinwald said plainly, “the necromancer who caused the curse upon this village.”

     “You’re under arrest,” Curran yelled, “By order of the Ilian Church.”

     The woman scrambled away, falling down onto the magic circle and huddling around a strange figure lying upon the ground.

     “No…” Syana cried, “You can’t take me in! If you do… then Marc… Marc will…”

     Heinwald approached her, looking closely at the circle. In her arms was the Sylvan man he saw in the picture. His body was perfectly healthy, but based on the look in his eyes, his soul appeared to be fighting to get out of his body.

     “So you did it for him,” Heinwald said, “You threw away the lives of countless innocent civilians to bring your husband back.”

     “IT WAS YOUR DAMN WAR THAT TOOK HIM FROM ME,” she snapped, “Marc didn’t do anything wrong… But you humans… YOU EVIL HUMANS…”

     She pointed her wand at Curran, hissing an incantation before firing a dark pulse of energy at him. Time felt like it had stopped for Heinwald. It was then that a man of logic like himself abandoned his pillars to act on instinct, jumping in front of Curran to take the brunt of the spell.

     “HEIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Curran yelled.

     Heinwald doubled over in pain, gripping onto his staff to leverage himself. He coughed and wheezed as he raised his weapon.

     “Call of Chaos…” he choked.

     A dark hand arose from the shadows. It grabbed onto Syana, draining some of her life force to subdue her. As she toppled over, Heinwald stood up, completely healthy from the life steal of his magic attack.

     “Curse you…” Syana muttered, blood dripping from her mouth, “DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL!”

     Before she could cast another curse, Curran swept in, pointing his ax at her neck.

     “Move a muscle and I slice your throat open,” he threatened, “You have the right to remain silent.”

     Syana spat in anger as she was forced to drop her weapon and hold her hands up in surrender. Heinwald grabbed some rope, enchanted it with a magic inhibiting spell, and bound her hands. This way, Syana couldn’t use her dark arts to free herself. Her look of fury turned to sadness as Curran began to drag her away from the slowly fading magic circle. The soul of the revived Sylvan man was finally starting to leave his body once more.

     “No…” she cried, “NO! LET ME GO! MARC! I NEED TO SAVE MARC!”

     “You fool, he’s just a hollow shell now!” Heinwald scolded, “Reviving the dead only brings suffering, for both the soul you are forcing back into its former vessel and the souls you sacrificed to keep it imprisoned. Your own selfishness isn’t just harming innocents, it’s also hurting the man you love. Let him go, Syana. Let his soul be free.”

     “You’re lying… YOU’RE TRYING TO TAKE HIM FROM ME AGAIN! MARC! MARC!”

     “Don’t bother trying to reason with her Hein,” Curran sighed, “This lady has totally lost it. Your words mean nothing to her.”

     “I suppose all that’s left is to leave her to the inquisition,” Heinwald replied, giving up on the babbling and screeching madwoman, “Her crimes will probably be punished with death, but at least that means her soul will be reunited her loved one in the afterlife.”

     Curran lifted the kicking, screaming heretic over his shoulder and proceeded to carry her out of the house. No matter how much she struggled, Syana couldn’t escape Heinwald’s tight bindings and Curran’s iron grip. Heinwald opened the door to her home and returned to the light of the outside. The smell of rot began to dissipate and not a single moan of pain could be heard. It appeared Zophi successfully distributed the cure and evacuated the village. They returned to their cart at the front of the village, and Heinwald noticed a small note placed at the bottom of his empty cauldron.

     _“We had just enough antidote for everyone! If you’re reading this, we’re on our way to the closest church. Thank you for saving our village. I hope one day I can repay you.”_

_-Zophi_

     Heinwald smiled as he tucked away the note in his pocket and loaded his cauldron, reagents, pestle, and canteen into the cart. He was glad he had brewed enough to cure the village. As he climbed into the back of the cart, he noticed Syana was practically foaming at the mouth, trying to escape. Heinwald shook his head and reached into his bag of reagents, hunting for a particular herb. Addlewort, hemlock, fiends’ hide… there it was, Slumberweed. He crushed the herb in his hand and shoved it into Syana’s mouth. Her eyes grew heavy and her head tilted as slumber overtook her.

     “Hein what did you do to her?” Curran gaped, loading his ax and climbing onto the cart to take the reins of the horse.

     “Relax, I just put her to sleep,” Heinwald assured, “I wouldn’t want her trying to escape while we’re heading back to the church.”

     “I can’t believe you just carry sleeping herbs on you.”

     “One must always be prepared.”

     Curran turned around and cracked the reins, making their horse turn out of the village entrance. As they left Marcio, Heinwald looked back. He hoped that one day, the village could be restored to its former glory, but with youth like Zophi, the village’s future looked bright. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Heinwald didn’t know why, but he was absolutely exhausted. It probably wouldn’t hurt him to rest his eyes until they made it back to the church.

***

     Heinwald awoke dark, cold room. Not a single door or window was present, and a choking, purple haze hung low in the room. His vision was blurry, but he recognized this smell anywhere. This putrid stench of rotting flesh: the scent of death. He retched and fell to his knees. The horrible odor was choking him, making his eyes water and his stomach turn.

     “F̸̧̡̢̧͍͈͈̺̯̩̣̌͗̉̄̀̇̎͒͒̅͑͜͜è̵͉͝ș̷̗̿͗̾̋͛̃͌̈͐̒͛͛̕͘̕͜t̴͍͍̼̔̐̉̽̈́̾͆͝e̷̡̢̠̫̞͎̹͙̤̙̜͖̝̭͛̀̈̍͌̌̓̔̋̾̎͘̚͜͝ȑ̸̡̛̝̘͕̊̓̃̓̆̄͋͐̏̿́͠,” a distorted voice rung throughout his head.

     _“R̵̝̭͎͉̤̗̭͖̹̭̬͈͍̂͆̅́̅́̑͗̿̇̔̓͠ơ̷̗̰̞̻̺̟̞͕͍͉̖̜͗̉̈́̉̌̿̉̀̇̎͊̏́͝t̵̨̧̹͕̗̹̖̻͚̰̠̔̈̆̽̇͆͗͝ ̷͓͚̫̭͔̯̮̌̋̇͊̄́̔͐̄̈́a̸̢̛̗̮͖̬͂̀̈́̉̓̍͒̄͂͌̈́ẘ̵͙̱̥͂̍̽̈̽̄͆a̸͉̼̱̙̼̓̿͑̽͘͘ỷ̵̨̪̱͎̠͎͓̦̝͊͆̽̒̿̉͛̽̀́ ̶̢̧̖̹̮͇̭̠̮͉̖̯͈͒̑̆͋͊̒͐͋͝a̸̞͎̔̾̃̄̆n̴̡̖͙̩͕̼̝͓̦̹̙͙̱͚̋̍͒̈́̍̄ͅd̶̜̺̲̙̘͙̻̟̟̙̤̾̂̒̄̉̽́̅͘ͅ ̶͓̜͕̙͙̝͕̼͈͆̓̐f̵͓̘̗̮̱͓͎͓̗̯͋̐ͅe̵̪͈͎͈̬̞̬̻͙̪͇̜̱̹̽̅̽̄̈̐͛͆́̑̽̑̚ś̸̡̪͎̰͙̱̀̍͒̍̃̐̈̂̊̈́̀̂̾́ţ̶̮̼̻̞̪͎͂̋̑͆̓̈́̀́̏̿́̾͘͝͝ȅ̵̢̛͈̜̤̰̪̭̠͍̻̻͔͍̒͐̑̒̍͝r̴̛͓̹̭͈̠̤͈̖̻̬͛̽̄͋̈̓͑͗͂̂͠ ̷͙͖̉͆̔̆̏ì̴̳̝̥̬͚̻͖̺̺̟̅̎́̇͝ṉ̷̢̧̠̠͓̼̼͌ ̵̲̲̼̩̘̬̀̈́̌̏̆̈́̅̀͊̇̅̚͘t̵͇̭̉̀̌̍̈́͘h̴̦̝̹̩̤͙̞̭̫̱̅͆̓͘é̷̡̛͍̫̙̺͇̹̑̎̉̃̈͂̆̊̐ ̴̥͔̟̱̝͕̇̑͗̑̽͜ã̴̮̰͖̩̤̔̋ḅ̴̦͋̊͊̈̽̃̓̓͊͗̕͠y̵̧̡̨̹͔̲͙͇̞͓͔̜̳̋s̴̛̮̫̩̺̱̑̽͐͆̌͒ͅş̵̟̪̥̘̣̯͐͊̊̄̏̇̌͜,”_ it shrieked.

     Heinwald clawed at his face, covering his ears and squinting his eyes shut to get this horrible voice to go away, but it seemed to only get louder, closer, more corrupted…

     _“D̵̡̻̱̘̥͖͓͖̱̳͔̯͔̪̦̈́̈̄͂̉̌̇̎͂̂͊̈́̍̉͘í̴̡̝͚͉̬̼̝̼̽̄̀̚͝e̴̫̗̥͇̼̲̼̻͍͍͉͓̻̲͚̐̓̓.̴̰̫̳͕͓̗͙̘̊͗̎̏̒ ̶̡̞͇̖̞̊̓͑̆̎̿̅͜R̸̬̜̯̯̩͍̝̦̈̈́̅̋͗͂̍̆̀͊̓̚o̵͕̳̭̰̗̗̲̩̼̒͜t̸̳͎̦̟̊̌͐̀̓̈́̀͝.̵̛͙͉͉͎̤̘̩̭͇̐͗̎̅͌ ̶̪͙̺̹͖͕̬̄̈̾̅̆͌̓͘̚W̶̱͓͔̦̯͖͈̲̼̤̹̭̃́̈́͗̆͆͂̇͒̄͒̕͘͝i̸̢̩͚̖͇͉̰̋͘t̸̩͔̭̻̩̻͍͖̩͔̰̄̍̊̾̒̑͑̈́̇̓͠ͅͅh̴̛̼̺̥̹̄̑̈́͂̏̌̇́̕̚e̸̛̩̖͓̠̻͔͍͎͖̹̘̬͌̃̒͌͛͋̀̑̎̈̔͜͠r̸̛͓͎͍̄̓̃ ̶̧̫͖̯͚͇̲̹̝̜̙͈̓̾̆a̶͙̻̣͋̽́̿́͋̆̿̾͂̓̎̏͘̕ͅw̷̡͍̤͙͙͔̯͉̝̜̍͊́͛̓̄́̃̒̀͋̈́͌̓a̸̤̯͚̪̟̪͍̓̈́̈́͊͌̃̍̑̔̽̃y̶̧̥̼̦̌̌͑̈̂̿̓͒̚ ̴̨̢̱̱̟͖̭̩̺͙̮̟̠̔̽̎̃́͒̔̂̋̈͛̏̕̚ͅt̶͍̽͐̍̊̃͋̌͗o̶̦̺̤̼̝͊́̾͑̓̒͋̚͝ ̵̛̫̫͒̈́̎͑̌̎̑̉̃͂̅̚͝ṋ̸̨̮͛̔ö̸̦́́̇t̸̡̧̢͙͎̦̲͕̫͔͑̿̐͒͑̔̌̇̅̈͋͒̃̈́͘h̵̨̡͙͓͚̫̘̖̆̾͆̇͛̽̓͐̈͌̚̕i̷̜̯͒̊̒͛̏͌̾̈̏͒̉́̀͝͠ņ̸̢̢͎̼̦͙̥̮̫͈̬̙͕͆̇͋̈́͝ͅģ̸̛͇̂̏̃̐̀͗̕͝͠n̵̢̪̙̘̠͉̣̪̬̂̔͂̔͒̋̒͑͛̏̕͠͝e̴̡̥̝͕̝͎͖͇̹͍̦̲̯̜̹̓̎̈́̓̆̂̿̀̉͌͐̀̓͘s̴̡̝͗̿̓̒̓͘s̸̫͉͎̼̫͕̙̼̑̍͆͝.̸̥͈͔̦̫͛̒̏̌́̆̏̕͘ͅ”_

     “Stop…” he begged, “Stop this madness!”

     Suddenly he felt a tight death grip on his leg. It felt like his leg was breaking under the pressure. He bit his lip in pain and opened his eyes. Holding onto his leg was the Sylvan man, Marc, who Syana was trying to revive. His skin was grey and his flesh rotted off of his bones.

     _“Ģ̴̪̮̘͎̟̥̯͆́͋̐̓͑̿̈́̽͌͜͝͝͝i̴̻̭͇̬̙̙͎̼̅͛͋͒̓ͅv̵̢̹̯͙͕̭͈̞̤̥͓̩̎̊ͅe̴̥̜̙̗̙͓̲͗ ̷̤͕̭͛̈̐͜͜͝i̵̲͕̥̊̓͌͌̔͊̎̾͑̈͋͝͝ͅt̸͔̼͔̆̒͑̌͂͒̈́̍͗̀̉̑̌̑ ̴̧͕͕̫̖͚͚̤̻̓̊̾̿̌̐̏͂̈́͆͑͘͝͝͝ṱ̷͂̉͂̐͐̃̈́̈́̉͗̀̕͝ỏ̶̢̬̘̭̩̦͉̯̳̝̦̖̿̇̄̽̐̿͌͛͆̐̾̉͘ͅ ̵̜̟̗̰̦͍̹̠̺̮̱͍͑̂̆̔͗̕m̶͇͍̅̍ȩ̷̡̞̖̹̼͚̥̻̗̮͑̈̊͐ͅ,̵͚̪͆̅̍̈́͒̇͐̉̇̈́̕̕͝”_ he gurgled, _“G̸͙͎̔́̔͂̌̒̃̈͝i̸̘͔̟͖̾̌̉̀̀̽̔͊̚v̷͔̏́̇̅̇͋͐̎͊̓͋̌̐͝͝e̷̛̤̱̺̦͓̪̣̩̣̬̰̜̟̎́̆͛̈͌̀̒̎̀͗̅͌͘ ̵̛͇̼̞̥̭̆̚m̶̡̦̜̟̱̜̋̅͛͌͗͝ę̶̯̇͊̇̀̍̈́́̇͗̂͂̾͝͝ ̵̢̡̧̭̙̺̯̩̥̭͖͔̥͈͒́̊̌̊̍͋͂̄̆̏̓͘͘͘y̶͎͊́̈́ỏ̵̧̭͉̹̘͚͖͌͛͛͊́͒̓̀̋̋̿̎̏ừ̷̛̠̻̱͒͆͊̔̿́͋͗̅̏͝r̷̪̱̭͓̬̺̹̰͓̖̩̥̮͋͌̎͌̆͋́͑̔͒͑̚͝ ̷͖̘̹̙̜̱͚̮̝̱̰̬͙͈̉̌̉̓̈̐͝͝ͅŝ̷̢͉̥̻͖̥̗̟̺͇͉̞͉͚͑̎͌́͒̔͠ơ̵̖̯̘̫̲͈̘͊̓̎̔̈́͗͝ư̸͍̖̗͓̖͗̔̓̓̋ļ̸̙̃̎̊̽͊̾̕̚͘͜͝ͅ.̶̲̩͕̼͍͕̦͇͙͔̪̮̇̍̐́͂̓̈́͂̊͂͛̌͝͝͠”_

     Heinwald writhed in pain as he looked down in horror. His leg was turning grey, rotting off and withering.

     “No…” he cried, “STOP! GET AWAY FROM ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

***

     “Hein!” Curran shouted, shaking Heinwald awake, “Hein wake up!”

     Heinwald woke up in a cold sweat. His pulse was through the roof and he shivered in fear. Anxiously, he looked down at his leg. Thankfully, it was still normal, living flesh. It was just a dream.

     “You alright?” Curran asked, “You were screaming in your sleep.”

     “I just had one hell of a nightmare…” Heinwald sighed, “But I’m fine. It’s over now.”

     “Well, we’re finally at the church. Once we bring Syana in, we’re off for the night. What do you say to grabbing a round of ale at the local tavern before you head home?”

     “I’m… not so sure about that… I’m not feeling that well. Is it ok if I just stay in your room tonight? I don’t know if I can manage a trip back to my manor.”

     “Of course. You’re always welcome to.”

     Heinwald disembarked the cart as Curran grabbed Syana and began carrying her into the church. They entered the massive steeple to see the head Cardinal waiting for them, clearly pleased.

     “You’ve returned,” he said, “I heard from a pastor at a nearby church that the survivors of Marcio have been safely evacuated and the curse has been dispelled.”

     “They have,” Heinwald replied, “I was able to cure them.”

     “I applaud you for that, Heinwald,” the Cardinal smiled, “And Curran, it appears you have found and apprehended the necromancer.”

     “Yup,” he boasted, “Got her right here. She resisted arrest, so Heinwald had to knock her out with a dose of slumberweed. I suggest we get her in her cell before she wakes up.”

     “Astute idea,” the Cardinal said, “Curran, please lock her up in one of our empty cells.”

     Curran nodded and began to carry Syana’s limp, sleeping body to the dungeons. Heinwald normally would accompany him, but he was feeling a bit… off… Suddenly, a severe pain surged through his temple. It felt as if someone was plunging a dagger into the side of his head.

     “Your grace…” he panted, “May I be excused? I fear I have a horrible headache.”

     “Of course,” the Cardinal pardoned, “You have done your duty well. You deserve some rest.”

     Heinwald bowed to the Cardinal before hobbling into the Inquisition barracks. Since he and Curran were partners in both work and in bed, Heinwald had a key to Curran’s room for whenever they wanted to… use it. As he stumbled through the hallway, the pain in his temple only seemed to increase. It throbbed in intense agony and Heinwald had to bite his lip to prevent himself from crying out in pain. Eventually, he reached Curran’s room. He pulled out his spare key to open up the door and walked inside. Maybe laying down would help alleviate some of the pain of his headache. As he walked to Curran’s bed, he froze in front of the dresser’s mirror. Something was definitely off about the side of his head. He walked closer and swallowed hard. As he pulled aside his long bangs, his heart sunk. The right side of his face was turning grey, and his formerly supple skin was beginning to rot off.


	4. Chapter 4

     Syana woke up, bound in a dungeon cell, with Curran standing outside, twirling the keys in his hand.

     “Have a nice nap Sleeping Beauty?” he asked.

     She scoffed, “So the holy Ilian Church is hiding horrible dungeons like this. Why am I not surprised?”

     “Heretics shouldn’t be rewarded with presidential suites. Your hearing will be in a few days. If you believe in God, you better start praying, cuz I doubt it’s gonna be good news for you.”

     Syana grinned shrewdly and chuckled. Her soft laugh turned into a deafening cackle as she threw her head back and rolled on the ground.

   “I’ll probably meet the headman’s ax no matter what!” she cackled, “But that doesn’t matter to me. If I can’t be with my Marc in life, I’ll reunite with him in death! And I won’t be going alone.”

     Curran grabbed onto the iron bars of her cell and scowled, “What do you mean by that, witch? Heinwald dispelled your curse and sealed away your magic. You won’t be taking any more lives.”

     “Heinwald,” she mumbled, “Is that the name of your partner? If you care about him, you better go say your goodbyes. That man is a dead man walking.”

     Curran froze. He suddenly remembered how Heinwald jumped in front of Syana’s dark blast from her wand.

     “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM?” Curran growled.

     “Good luck finding an apothecary who can brew his remedy,” she laughed, “I doubt he’ll be able to do it once his flesh begins to rot away.”

     Curran clenched his teeth and ran out of the dungeon, Syana’s maniacal laughter echoing behind him. He bolted straight to his room and opened the door.

     “Hein!” he yelled, “You ok…”

     Before he could finish his question, Curran gasped in horror. Heinwald was writhing in pain on the floor of his room. The entire right side of his face had turned grey and his jet-black hair was turning silver from the stress of his skin and muscles rotting away.

     “Cu…rran…” Heinwald muttered, “H…elp… me…”

     Curran rushed to Heinwald, gently picking him up from the cold floor. He brushed his bangs from his eyes, touching the stone cold rotting flesh. Sweat beaded on the left side of his forehead. While the right half of his face was frozen, the left half was burning up as if he had a fever.

     “It hurts…” Heinwald whimpered, “Everything hurts…”

     Curran hugged Heinwald tight, cradling his head, “Don’t worry Heinwald, I’m gonna take you to the healing clerics. They’ll fix you up right away.”

     “No need… to lie to me… I’ve been cursed… and we’re out of antidote…”

     “Maybe they can slow the curse’s progression or take away some of the pain. I can’t just let you suffer like this.”

     Curran hoisted Heinwald up, carrying him out of his room and into the medical barracks of the Ilian Church. Clerics were treating wounded soldiers from the war and plague struck victims, using healing light magic to restore their vitality. Dealing with curses however was far out of their wheelhouse.

     “Someone…” Curran begged, “Anyone! Help! Heinwald has been cursed! He’s dying.”

     The head cleric, Hildegard rushed to Heinwald and Curran’s side. She covered her mouth in shock at the sight of the rotting flesh on Heinwald’s face.

     “I…” she stammered, “I’ve never seen anything like this before…”

     “Hildegard please, I’m begging you,” Curran pleaded, “If you can do anything, even just slowing the progression of the curse… He’ll die if he doesn’t get help.”

     “Cu…rran…” Heinwald gasped, “The antidote… try… to find someone… who can brew the antidote…”

     “I’ll do what I can to slow down the spread of necrosis,” Hildegard replied, “But I fear that’s all I can do… Please lay him down so I can begin treatment.”

     Curran placed him down on the nearest empty cot with great care. He saw how delicate this curse made peoples’ bodies; Curran didn’t want to hurt Heinwald even more. Hildegard stripped off Heinwald’s extraneous layers of clothing and dressed him in a patient’s gown. It appeared the curse was already starting to manifest on his right hand and left leg as well. Hildegard pulled out her staff and waved it over the afflicted areas. Heinwald’s skin tightened slightly and the smell of rot waned, but it was apparent this balm was only temporary.

     Hildegard sighed in defeat, “As I expected… Heinwald, if the pain becomes too unbearable, let me know and I will register a numbing agent. Until then, I fear this minor treatment is all I can do.”

     “Th…ank… you for trying….” Heinwald hacked.

     “Heinwald…” Curran mourned, “Don’t worry… I’m gonna find the best apothecaries in Grastea to cure you. I’m not letting you die on me…”

     Over the next few weeks, Curran turned down every case or quest for the sake of his partner. He refused to go out and apprehend heretics until Heinwald was completely healthy again. The church called in apothecaries from all across the continent, but despite their efforts, none could successfully brew the antidote. Curran refused to lose hope. He made sure to visit Heinwald every day in the infirmary, bringing books, sweets, or anything else he could think of to distract Heinwald from the pain.

     Curran entered the ward and sat down next to Heinwald with a box of pastries in hand. By now, the curse had spread up the entirety of Heinwald’s right arm, from the tip of his fingers to his shoulder, and taken out his left leg to his knee. The right half of his face was wrapped in bandages to prevent any skin or muscle from falling off and his formerly luscious black hair was almost completely silver now.

     “I brought you your favorite crème puffs from the local baker,” Curran comforted, “They even threw in an extra one for you.”

     “You should eat them…” Heinwald said despairingly, “I can’t really taste anything anymore… I doubt I’d even enjoy them.”

     “How are you feeling? Still in pain?”

     “Still hurts as much as always… I just figure I shouldn’t even bother complaining about it anymore… This pain isn’t exactly something I can get used to, but if I cry I’ll just blow my voice out…”

     Curran grabbed Heinwald’s left hand, staring down at his rotting, right arm. He noticed stitches running along his wrist.

     “What happened there?” he asked, “To your hand…”

     “Oh that?” Heinwald replied, “It… fell off.”

     “WHAT?”  
     “I was trying to grab a glass of water… and it just… fell off… Hildegard was able to stitch it back on, but… you know…”

     “Damn that bitch Syana… if she weren’t already being executed, I’d kill her for what she did to you…”

     “Why bother getting your hands dirty with her blood…”

     “IT HURTS ME TO SEE YOU HURTING LIKE THIS. AND YOU’RE TALKING LIKE YOU’VE GIVEN UP.”

     “…Curran… just forget about me… I wish to know the truth behind everything… I suppose the afterlife will be my final answer… the last mystery for me to solve…”

     “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO DIE. YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE HEINWALD.”

     “Curran…”

     “I don’t care if you’ve given up… I’m not giving up until your curse is lifted.”

     “Curran… it’s going to take a miracle for me to survive… even the brightest apothecaries couldn’t replicate the antidote… and I’m too weak to do it myself…”

     Curran clenched his fist in frustration. He felt so powerless. As an inquisitor, he thought he was used to comrades dying for their line of work, but the thought of Heinwald leaving him filled him with despair. After working with him for months, getting to know him, and even fooling around with him in bed, Curran finally realized something. He was in love with Heinwald. Curran cupped Heinwald’s face gently and kissed him on the lips. Heinwald’s lips were chapped from his weeks in quarantine of the infirmary and his eyes remained open and glazed over with hopelessness. Curran pulled away and stood up.

     “I’m not gonna let you die on me…” he said, “I don’t care what it takes… I’ll make sure your curse is lifted…”

     He stormed out of the infirmary, slamming the door behind him. As soon as Heinwald was certain Curran was gone, tears spilled from his eyes.

     “You idiot…” he sobbed.

***

     Curran plopped down on a pew in the back of the church. Despite being an inquisitor, he rarely found himself praying to Ilia for miracles, but at times like this, he was desperate.

 _“Ilia…”_ he prayed, _“Please help me. I need to find someone to cure Heinwald. Every day he lies in agony from that curse. He may not look it but he’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve to die like this… Please give me a sign, a miracle to save his life…”_

   Suddenly, Curran felt a small hand tapping on his shoulder. He looked up from his prayer to see the little Sylvan girl who Heinwald cured, Zophi. Despite the dark marks on her skin and white streaks in her hair, she looked and acted like the picture of health. In her hands was a small, straw basket.

     “Sorry to interrupt you Mr. Curran,” Zophi said, “Is Mr. Heinwald here? My village finally got settled in again and we were able to fix the place back up. Some of the other villagers and I made him an apple pie to thank him for curing us, and I wanted to give it to him.”

     “Zophi…” Curran sighed, “Heinwald isn’t doing too well… He’s been cursed…”

     Zophi dropped her basket and tears began to flow from her eyes.

     “Cursed?” she sobbed, “No… NO! Where is he? Mr. Heinwald!!!”

     Curran stood up and ruffled her hair, “He’s in the infirmary right now. They’ve been able to slow the progression of the curse, but not a single apothecary has been able to cure him yet…”

     “…Let me try…”

     “What? Zophi, you? You want to try to cure him?”

     “He saved me. He saved my village. I owe everything to him, now it’s my turn to save his life.”

     “But can you do it? No one has been able to replicate the antidote.”

     “I still remember watching him make it. He was so cool, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that moment, or that recipe.”

     Maybe this was the miracle Curran was praying for. At this point, he had nothing to lose. Putting his faith in Zophi was better than giving up altogether.

     “Follow me,” Curran said, “We can use the dining hall to brew the antidote.”

     Zophi nodded her head and followed him. Once they reached the dining hall, she rolled up her sleeves like a serious apothecary at work. She grabbed a large pot and filled it with water, bringing it to a boil before searching for a pestle and thermometer.

     “I need to start grinding the herbs,” Zophi instructed, “Mr. Curran, do you have any Bellathorna and potiongrass?”

     “There might be some in the infirmary stocks,” he replied, “I’ll go grab them.”

     He ran as quickly as he could to the infirmary supply cabinet, grabbing as much fresh potiongrass and Bellathorna as he could carry. He soon returned to the kitchen to find Zophi positioning the thermometer in the water and setting her pestle aside. Curran handed her the reagents and she immediately got to work, grinding the potiongrass into a fine powder. Watching her work was like looking at a miniature Heinwald. She worked with just as much precision and concentration as he did. Once the potiongrass was completely ground, she poured it into the pot, watching the clear liquid turn green. Now came the tricky part, incorporating the Bellathorna. With just as much skill from grinding the potiongrass, Zophi minced the Bellathorna with her pestle until it too was a fine powder. Her eyes became transfixed on the thermometer, watching the mercury tick up into the 140s. She held the ground Bellathorna patiently above the pot, waiting until the mercury hit 150° C exactly before dumping the powder in, stirring it thoroughly, and removing it from the heat. As the mixture cooled, she kept her eyes glued to the pot.

     _“Please don’t turn purple… please don’t turn purple!”_ she thought.

     The liquid had finally cooled, and Zophi looked in anxiously to make sure she did it right. A delighted grin spread across her face. It was green. The potion the perfect color. She did it!

     “Mr. Curran! Mr. Curran!” she beamed, “I did it! Look!”

     Curran gazed into the pot. His heart felt like it was soaring into the heavens. It looked identical to the remedy Heinwald made when they went to cure the village of Marcio.

     “Zophi, you’re amazing!” he exclaimed, filling a cup with the green liquid, “Now we need to get this to Heinwald ASAP.”

     The two headed to the infirmary, finding Heinwald laying on his cot, staring into nothingness.

     “Mr. Heinwald!” Zophi yelled.

     “Zo…phi?” Heinwald murmured, “What are you doing here?”

     “Saving your life,” Curran said, handing him the antidote, “This kid was able to recreate your cure.”

     Heinwald looked into the cup of antidote amazedly. It truly was an exact replica.

     “Well,” he sighed, “I’ll be damned…”

     “Hurry up and drink it!” Zophi ordered, “You need to get better!”

     Heinwald raised the glass to his mouth, chugging the entire antidote. The very taste of it felt like it was revitalizing him. Within minutes, he could freely move his cursed hand without any pain, and the smell and sensation of rot faded from his body.

     “I’m alive…” he said amazedly, “I’m cured…”

     Zophi hugged him tightly, crying tears of joy, “I’M SO HAPPY YOU’RE OK MR. HEINWALD! I’M SO SORRY YOU GOT CURSED!”

     He patted Zophi on the head and smiled, “It’s ok little one. This curse wasn’t your fault. Thank you for curing me. You saved my life.”

     “Hein,” Curran added, “Can you stand alright?”

     “I’ll try,” he replied, “Curran, can you help me?”

     Curran extended his hand to Heinwald. He grabbed Curran’s head and pushed himself up off the cot. While his feet did wobble a little, it was more from being bedbound for several weeks than remnants of the curse. Soon after, Hildegard entered the room for Heinwald’s daily checkup. Her jaw dropped when she saw her patient standing and full of life.

     “Heinwald…” she gasped, “You can walk… Did you…”

     “Yes,” he answered, “I’m cured, thanks to Zophi’s brewing skills.”

     Zophi smiled proudly.

     “Amazing,” Hildegard remarked, “Having such precise pharmaceutical skills at such a young age. Zophi, are you going to become an apothecary when you grow up?”

     “Yup!” she beamed, “I’m gonna help people in need, just like Mr. Heinwald!”

     Heinwald blushed as he ruffled Zophi’s hair.

     “That’s so sweet,” Hildegard cooed, “It looks like you’ve got a little protégée Heinwald.”

     “Shut up…” Heinwald retorted.

     “It’s a shame that the discoloration is permanent, but at least you’re healthy again,” Curran said.

     Heinwald paused.

     “It doesn’t matter to me,” Heinwald replied nonchalantly, “My looks won’t affect my work. It doesn’t matter that my appearance has changed.”

     “Even though your curse has been lifted, I still recommend taking a few days off before returning to work,” Hildegard suggested, “Your body has been under a lot of stress. You need to fully recuperate.”

     “I’ll gladly take that time off,” Heinwald chuckled, “Curran, you’re coming with me to my manor. I’ll need you to help me with my recovery.”

     “Huh?” Curran hissed, “Don’t you have servants for that?”

     “Well, I suppose,” Heinwald teased, “I mainly needed assistance with things like bathing, undressing…”

     “I’ll help,” Curran offered immediately.

     “Oh Mr. Heinwald! That’s right!” Zophi remembered, “Some villagers and I made you an apple pie as a thank you gift! Let’s go eat it together!”

     “How very kind of you Zophi,” Heinwald smiled, “I’d love to go eat that with you.”

     Zophi tugged on Heinwald’s hand and led him out of the infirmary. Curran however, stayed and sat down on Heinwald’s cot.

     “You don’t care that your appearance changed?” Curran thought out loud, “You’re a damn poor liar, Heinwald…”


	5. Chapter 5

     Zophi lead Heinwald out of the church and into the sunlit town. Heinwald’s eyes strained against the brightness of daylight outside as he had been cooped up inside for several weeks. He took off his bifocals and rubbed at his eyes, trying to adjust to the light stinging them. As soon as he put his glasses back on, he saw a crowd of Sylvans surrounding him; all with the same grey marks and silver streaked hair as him.

     “Zophi is this him?” a Sylvan man in the crowd asked, “Is this the man that saved our village?”

     Zophi grinned ear to ear, “Yup! Everyone, this is Mr. Heinwald.”

     The crowd erupted in cheers and chatter. Men rushed to shake his hand while women fawned over him. Heinwald was in complete awe. Never in his life had he been regarded as a hero.

     “Those marks,” one of the villagers commented, “Even when cursed himself, he still came to save our lives.”

     “Sir Heinwald, you are a true humanitarian!” another shouted.

     “When we rebuild our pharmaceutical ward, is it ok if we name it in your honor?” another asked, “We plan to call it ‘The Heinwald Center for Curse and Disease Treatment.’ You’re the savior of Marcio!”

    “I didn’t expect you to bring your whole town, Zophi,” Heinwald blushed.

     “They all wanted to come,” she responded, “You saved us all.”

     “You flatter me,” he said humbly, “You and Curran were a huge help too. He was the one who apprehended Syana, and you lead the evacuation effort. Zophi, you’re the true hero here.”

     Zophi cupped her cheeks happily and giggled, “Anyway, I promised you an apple pie! You look like you’re really hungry, so let’s dig in!”

     Curran walked out of the church to find Heinwald surrounded by Sylvans and happily eating a slice of pie. It had been so long since he saw Heinwald smile, he almost forgot how beautiful his smiling face was. Even with his new patches of discolored skin, scars, and silver streaked hair, his smile was just as radiant as it was before.

     “How is it?” Zophi asked, “We used a special apple that grows by our village and absorbs moonlight!”

     “It’s divine,” Heinwald replied, chewing a bite of the pie with great relish, “I was worried I would never be able to enjoy sweets again. I’m glad the first thing I tasted after regaining my senses was a pie this delicious.”

     Curran grinned as he walked over to the crowd.

     “Well, aren’t you quite the celebrity,” he chuckled.

     “Mr. Curran!” Zophi beamed, “Would you like some pie too?”

     “Thanks for the offer, but sweets aren’t really my thing,” Curran replied, “Heinwald will probably eat the whole thing on his own. He may not look is but he’s got a huge sweet tooth.”

     “Shut up Curran…” Heinwald hissed, his mouth still full of pie, “Let me enjoy this. They served me nothing but mush when I was in the infirmary. I deserve to eat something that tastes good for once.”

     Curran sighed happily. After the hell Heinwald went through, he really did deserve at least a moment of bliss. Unfortunately, that moment was cut short as a shriek rung out by the crowd.

     “MONSTERS! FIENDS!” a passing woman screamed.

     Heinwald turned to see a woman petrified in fear as she gazed upon the group of formerly cursed Sylvans. She hugged her child close as she inched away.

     “Mommy!” the little boy asked, “Why is their skin grey? What’s wrong with them?”

     “Stay away from them Johnny,” she warned, “They’re evil monsters!”

     “Oi!” Curran interjected, “These people are survivors of a curse. Don’t judge a book by it’s lover.”

     Heinwald shook his head in embarrassment.

     “Survivors?” the woman hissed, “They probably still _are_ cursed! What normal person has grey patches on their skin?”

     Zophi’s ears drooped and tears began to well up in her eyes.

     “Mr. Heinwald…” she sobbed, “Are we really monsters?”

     Heinwald patted Zophi’s head and held her close, “Don’t listen to her Zophi. That woman’s words mean nothing.”

     “Johnny, make sure you stay away from that man with the glasses in particular,” the woman warned, “I knew the church should have never let a dark mage into the inquisition. Now this madman has gathered an army of the undead.”

     “You’re wrong!” Zophi yelled, tears still spilling from her eyes, “Mr. Heinwald is a hero! He saved my village. You… you’re just a meanie!”

     “Let’s go Johnny,” the woman scoffed, “I don’t want that _heretic_ cursing you too.”

     As soon as the woman left, Curran shifted his gaze to Heinwald. He could tell that being called a monster and heretic was getting to him, even if he was trying to put on a brave face for Zophi. Heinwald wasn’t even touching the rest of his pie.

     “I… I should probably start heading home. I don’t want my servants and house staff worrying,” Heinwald said to the Sylvan villagers, “Thank you so much for the pie.”

     Zophi hugged Heinwald tightly, “Please come to visit Marcio any time you want! You’ll always be welcome there.”

     Heinwald said his goodbyes to the villagers of Marcio and walked back into the church. Curran followed closely as they entered the infirmary.

     “Curran,” he said, “Would you mind helping me change out of these hospital gowns?”

     “Sure,” he responded.

     Curran gathered Heinwald’s clothes and placed them on the cot before untying his gown. The thin fabric slid off of Heinwald’s slim body, revealing him completely. His fair skin stood out starkly against the dark grey of his curse marks. Curran ran his fingers across the grey patch of skin over Heinwald’s right eye, making a flustered blush spread across his cheeks.

     “Stop ogling at my body and help me get dressed,” Heinwald ordered.

     “Your arm… and leg…” Curran stammered, “Are they sore,”

     “A bit. Feeling is finally coming back to them.”

     The room went silent. Curran didn’t say anything as he slid Heinwald’s shirt onto his body and began buttoning it up.

     “I know,” Heinwald sighed, “The curse marks aren’t exactly attractive…”

     “I don’t care about the curse marks Hein,” Curran replied, planting a delicate kiss on his lips as he tied Heinwald’s cravat, “You’re still you under those scars.”

     Heinwald averted his eyes. Why now of all times did Curran have to be smooth? He stayed silent as Curran finished dressing him.

     “Well,” Curran said, sliding Heinwald’s cloak on, “Should we head back to your manor?”

     “Yeah… let’s go,” Heinwald replied uneasily.

     He grabbed Curran’s hand and left the infirmary, hoping he wouldn’t have to stay there for an extended period of time again. Heinwald’s manor was typically an easy walk from the church, but because Heinwald was still recovering, Curran thought it best to take a horse drawn cart so Heinwald wouldn’t overexert himself. They headed to the village stables to prepare for Heinwald’s trip back home. As they proceeded through the small Church town, Heinwald felt himself being assaulted by the disgusted stares and whispers of townspeople. Villagers would do a double take upon seeing his discolored skin and silver streaked hair, verbally expressing their horror. Curran gripped hard onto Heinwald’s shoulder, disgusted at the people judging him.

     _“Just block them out Heinwald_ ,” Heinwald thought to himself, _“Their opinions don’t matter…”_

     Finally they reached the stables. Curran helped Heinwald climb into the cart, being very gentle to ensure he didn’t get hurt. He harnessed a horse to the cart, climbed on, and took the reins in his hands. The cart pulled out of the stable and headed towards Heinwald’s manor. Heinwald raised his hood over his head in an attempt to ward off the stares of onlookers. The trip back to his manor passed in awkward silence: Heinwald was too depressed to speak and Curran was unsure what to do about it. They pulled into the gates of his manor, disembarking the cart. Curran knocked on the tall door to the front of Heinwald’s estate, gripping onto Heinwald’s hand to comfort him. A maid opened the door and bowed.

     “Lord Heinwald,” she greeted, “Welcome home. Are you feeling better?”

     Heinwald pulled back his hood, anticipating a reaction from the maid.

     “I’ve been worse,” he said.

     The maid winced slightly, but maintained her composure despite her master’s new appearance.

     “I’m glad you are… doing well…” she stuttered, “Is sir Curran joining us for the evening? Shall I set up a guest room for him?”

     “No need, he will be staying in my room with me,” Heinwald said plainly, “Curran, follow me.”

     Curran nodded his head as he followed Heinwald upstairs. He opened the door to his master bedroom. A large bed with violet drapes stood in the center atop an intricately woven carpet. Velvet curtains hung along the windows and not a speck of dust remained in the room. Heinwald was pleasantly surprised that his servants still cleaned his bedroom even while he was gone. His gaze shifted to the mirror atop his dresser. Heinwald’s heart sunk at the sight of his reflection. He looked like a walking corpse. His formerly silky black hair was drowning in grease and sweat, and the silver streaks made him look like he aged a decade. His eyes were sunken and the grey skin over his right eye looked like leather. Heinwald could see why villagers thought he was a monster; he certainly looked like one now.

     “I…” he choked, “Think I’m going to take a bath… I look a mess…”

     “Do you need me to draw the water for you?” Curran offered.

     “I think I can do it on my own. You can make yourself comfortable…”

     Before Curran could respond, Heinwald rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The vanity mirror in the bathroom was a bitter reminder of what his body had become. He slicked aside his long, now silver bangs to look at the large grey patch on his face. It was no longer rotten and festering, but the grey skin was no longer soft to the touch. It felt rough and taut under the touch of his fingers. If the curse-rotted skin of his face felt like this, he feared what the skin on his arm and leg felt like. Reluctantly, he slid off his coat, unbuttoned his undershirt, and removed his pants, stripping every last layer of clothing until he was completely nude in front of the mirror. A tight ball formed in his throat.

     “Hideous…” he dismayed at the sight of his body, “I… I am a monster…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut time

     Curran tapped his foot impatiently. Heinwald had been in the restroom for at least an hour now. He was starting to worry if he was ok. Curran stood up from Heinwald’s bed and forced the door to the bathroom open. Inside, Heinwald was sitting completely naked in the waterless tub, his face buried in his knees. He sobbed faintly, his back convulsing as he sniffed and sucked in air.

     “Hein!” Curran exclaimed, bending down to the tub, “Heinwald are you ok?”

     “DON’T LOOK AT ME!” Heinwald shouted, “I’m… disgusting…”

     Curran pulled Heinwald’s face from his knees. Tears and snot streamed down as the left side of his face flushed red from bawling.

     “Pathetic… I know right?” Heinwald sniffled, “Getting upset over something like this that can’t be helped… Everyone was right… I am a monster… A hideous monster whose appearance finally matches his rotten soul…”

     Curran gritted his teeth, pulling Heinwald close to him.

     “Hideous? Pathetic? Rotten?” Curran growled, “Don’t kid yourself Heinwald! You’re a hero! These scars… these curse marks… they’re medals of honor. You’re a fighter. You’re a survivor. You should wear them with pride.”

     “Easier said than done… I look horrible… I’m sorry… I know I said it didn’t matter… But those glares… People really think I’m…”

     “WHAT DO THEIR OPINIONS MATTER TO YOU HEIN? Think about little Zophi. Think about all of those villagers you helped. It doesn’t matter what strangers think. There are so many people who care about you. You’re beautiful, inside and out.”

     “Are you blind? My hair… my face… my body… Who in their right mind would think I’m beautiful…”

     “I DO!”

     Heinwald froze. Curran stared him directly in the eyes, sweeping his bangs from his vision and wiping away his tears.

     “I love you, Heinwald,” Curran confessed, “I don’t give a damn what you look like. You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes.”

     “You’re lying,” Heinwald sobbed, “There’s no way… There’s no way someone as cool and handsome as you would love a monster like me…”

     Curran pulled Heinwald’s face close, pressing their lips together. Heinwald closed his eyes as Curran forced his tongue past his lips. Curran ran his fingers through Heinwald’s long hair, smoothing out the tangles and grease as he stroked his silky locks. He pulled away from the passionate kiss, cupping Heinwald’s face in his hands.

     “Does that tell you anything about how I feel?” Curran asked, “Love is blind, Heinwald. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be more than work partners? I thought I’d be satisfied being friends with benefits, but that only made me want you more. I want to be your lover Heinwald. Please, let me show you how much I care for you.”

     Heinwald chuckled as he wiped away his tears, “I’m amazed you didn’t stumble over that idiom… But is it true? Do you really love me?”

     “It is,” Curran responded, “I’m madly in love with you.”

     “Curran…” Heinwald cried happily, “I… I love you too. I was so scared… I was scared I was going to die… I was scared you’d hate me…”

     “I could never hate you. You don’t have to worry about any of that anymore, Heinwald. You are so brave. You don’t need to fear being vulnerable around me.”

     Curran pulled Heinwald back into a loving kiss. His hands wandered from his cheek, running along his pale neck to the distinct point of his collarbone. Curran’s thumb grazed one of Heinwald’s nipples, making him mewl in pleasure. They were just kissing, but Heinwald could feel himself starting to get hard. He pulled away, blushing embarrassedly.

     “Umm… Curran…” he suggested, “Can we take this to my bed?”

     Curran lifted him from the tub and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

     “I thought you’d never ask,” Curran purred, “Let me show you how beautiful I think you are.”

     He laid Heinwald on the soft sheets of his bed, caressing his face before settling himself on top of him. Curran yanked off his shirt, revealing his rippling muscles. He slicked back Heinwald’s bangs, planting a kiss on the rough, grey patch of skin. Heinwald whimpered. It surprisingly felt really good.

     “Not there…” Heinwald grumbled, “It’s… gross…”

     “No it isn’t,” Curran replied, still peppering kisses on the dark patch over his right eye, “It’s warm. It’s proof that you’re alive.”

     _“I’m alive,”_ Heinwald thought, _“I’m alive!”_

     Heinwald’s dick twitched as Curran moved down to his neck, kissing and sucking on the fair skin. His fingers interlocked with Heinwald’s grey right hand as he trailed his tongue from Heinwald’s neck, to his collarbone, to his shoulder. Curran wanted to pay special attention to the parts of his body Heinwald despised. He needed to show him that every part of him was beautiful. As he trailed kisses down Heinwald’s arm, sparks of pleasure ignited where he kissed.

     “Your arm has gotten really sensitive,” Curran teased.

     “Sh-shut up,” Heinwald hissed, “It’s because of that curse…”

     Curran pressed his lips against Heinwald’s wrist, feeling a gentle beat coming from it.

     “Hein,” he said, “You know what I feel here?”

     “Rough, dead skin?” Heinwald asked.

     “No,” Curran comforted, “your pulse. Your heart is beating so fast and all I’m doing is kissing you. That’s way too cute.”

     Heinwald covered his face with his free hand. He hated to admit it, but he loved every second of this praise and comfort. His breath hitched as he felt Curran’s tongue licking between his fingers. He bucked his hips upward and panted as Curran locked his lips around Heinwald’s fingers, sucking on them gently.

     “I haven’t even touched your dick yet and you look like you’re already about to cum,” Curran prodded, “Just how sensitive did that curse make you?”

     “Nn… shut up…” Heinwald complained, “Just finger me already…”

     Curran chuckled as he kissed Heinwald one more time on his hand before pulling a bottle of lube out of Heinwald’s nightstand. They had made love countless times on this bed, but this would be their first time doing it together as lovers. Curran wanted to make sure Heinwald felt really good. He coated his fingers in lube, feeling around for Heinwald’s taut entrance before pressing a finger in. Heinwald shivered from the entrance. Anxiety nibbled at the back of his mind. What if the curse rotted his insides as well?

     “Cu…rran…” he whimpered, “It… doesn’t feel rotten... right?”

     “Of course not,” Curran comforted, sliding in a second finger, “It’s soft, and warm. Your ass feels wonderful Hein. I can’t wait to put _this_ inside of you.”

     With his free hand, Curran guided Heinwald’s palm to his crotch. Curran’s erection strained and twitched under his trousers. He was really hard.

     “Hurry up and put it in already then…” Heinwald begged.

     Curran withdrew his fingers and slid down his pants and underwear. He squirted lube all over his twitching cock and positioned it at Heinwald’s entrance. Heinwald shivered as he felt the blunt head of Curran’s dick pressing into him. The pain of the initial stretch, the anticipation for the mind numbing pleasure, all reminded Heinwald that he was alive, and he was loved. With one more slick thrust of his hips, Curran slid his member deeper inside, hitting Heinwald’s sensitive prostate. Heinwald cried out in pleasure from the sudden stimulation, relaxing enough to allow Curran to sheath his dick completely inside of him.

     “Damn, you’re amazing Heinwald,” Curran grunted, “Holding you feels like heaven.”

   Curran slowly began to rock his hips, gently kissing and making love to Heinwald. Despite the slow pace, Heinwald felt like he could get used to this gentle, warming pleasure. Usually their love making sessions were rough and carnal, but today it was calm and comforting.

     “Hein,” Curran whispered, “How are you feeling?”

     “G-good…” Heinwald mewled, “I like this a lot…”

     “I’m glad. Your body is so amazing. Today I’m going to take it nice and slow. I don’t want to risk hurting my sweet lover.”

     “I can handle harder… But, it does feel really good…”

     Curran pushed himself as deep as he could go inside of Heinwald’s body. Heinwald shrieked in ecstasy, melting in pleasure from Curran’s massive cock gently throbbing inside of him.

     “Beautiful,” Curran hummed, “You’re so gorgeous, Heinwald.”

     “There…” Heinwald breathed, “There feels really good…”

     Curran slightly picked up the pace while maintaining his gentle thrusts, pushing Heinwald closer to the edge of orgasm. As he rutted into his lover’s body, Curran kept whispering “I love you” and “You’re perfect” into Heinwald’s ear. Heinwald’s heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. The pleasure and praise made his body and heart feel amazing. He felt beautiful. He felt alive.

     “Kiss me…” Heinwald begged, “Curran… I love you…”

     Curran kissed Heinwald’s lips lovingly, bucking his hips as Heinwald moaned into his mouth. Both of them were close. With one last thrust, Heinwald came hard all over his stomach, pouring thick sperm all over his pale skin. He felt Curran’s dick twitch inside of him as Curran climaxed as well, spilling his seed deep inside of him. Curran separated from Heinwald, gazing down at his lover. His formerly sunken eyes were now glowing with pleasure and a cathartic smile shone on his face. Curran pulled his softening dick from Heinwald’s hole, kissing him once more before pulling him to his chest. Heinwald nuzzled against the warmth of Curran’s chest, pressing his ear against his breast to hear his gentle heartbeat. The soft beating comforted him, reminding him of his own, still living heart beating in his chest.

     “Now do you believe me when I tell you that you’re beautiful?” Curran asked.

     “You did once tell me that beauty is in the eye of the buttholder,” Heinwald snickered, “Based on how lovingly you held mine, I’d definitely believe you.”

     “Back again with your sass,” Curran sighed, “I guess that at least means you’re feeling better.”

     “I am… Curran… thank you.”

     Curran kissed Heinwald chastely, pressing his lips to the greyed skin patch on his forehead.

     “I love you Heinwald,” he whispered earnestly.

     “I love you too, you big idiot,” Heinwald responded.

     Heinwald closed his eyes, relaxing into Curran’s soft embrace. The signs of his curse didn’t matter to him anymore. He was alive, and he was loved.


End file.
